(draft) I am not a poem or a disappearing act
I am not your constant, I am not even moon phases.
Everyone thinks I am a poem
written for them and stopped
in mid sentence
but no one wants to lie down beside me
and help me sleep.
I don’t even check my voicemail
on good days
so please stop calling.
I don’t know how to be
anything if I am a body
not being touched.
I forgot how to stop kissing you.
I don’t know how to write to
tell you where I am.
I am tired. If the poem
ends here
I got a kick out of dying.
